


Four Birthdays Sam Hated (and one he didn't mind so much)

by theladyscribe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Birthdays, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-14
Updated: 2009-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10119158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: So here they are, in Grove Park at freaking midnight on Sam's birthday, when they should be out celebrating.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chrissie0707](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrissie0707/gifts).



> Written for the SPN Summer Gen exchange.

**1989**

Everything itches. It's like a thousand mosquito bites, only worse, because Dean says he's not allowed to scratch. But he _itches_.

And it's even worse, because he's missing out on the field trip to the dairy farm today. They were supposed to go see the cows and get ice cream afterward, and Dad signed the field trip slip, but Dean won't let him go because he's covered in little spots and itching.

"You can't go, Sammy. You got the chicken pox," Dean says, as if dumb red spots is the end of the discussion.

"But Dean, it's _my birthday_! I want to go to _school_!"

"You're the weirdest kid I know, if you want to go to school on your _birthday_." Dean says the whole thing with a sneer, like Sam's dumb or something (and he's not. It's his birthday and they were gonna have ice cream on the field trip).

"I hate you!" And right now, Sam really does hate his brother. He doesn't have the _chicken pox_ , and he _chose_ not to go to school because he wants Sam to be miserable and itchy but won't let him scratch.

Dean rolls his eyes and says, "Come on, Sammy, I know a way to keep you from itching."

Sam scowls warily back at him. "How?"

"You have to take a bath."

"I _won't_! It's my birthday and you can't make me!" he screams. He jumps out of the bed and runs down the hall, slamming into the closet in Dad's room, where he leans against the door and just _itches_.

 

**1999**

They were supposed to have this case finished up last night, but Dad miscalculated the lunar cycle. So here they are, in Grove Park at fucking midnight on Sam's birthday, when they were supposed to be out celebrating. He and Dean went to the DMV and got him his driver's license as soon as school let out. They'd originally planned to take a drive out to the lake and throw their own two-man party, but that's fallen through because Dad couldn't read his own goddamn handwriting.

Sam's on stake-out, set up behind some scrawny trees with a shotgun full of silver buckshot, keeping an eye out for both the werecat and the authorities.

There's a bloodcurdling scream that pulls him from his dark thoughts, and he looks up just in time to see Dean go down, werecat clawing at his face.

Sam doesn't stop to think, just aims and fires when he sees Dean pushing the cat up and away from his chest. The thing jerks with the shot, and Dean manages to scramble out from under it. Moments later, John blasts it with a shot from behind, and it finally twitches and goes still.

It isn't until he hears Dean say, "Sammy?" that he realizes he's fallen to his knees, legs too weak to hold him up. He looks up and immediately wishes he hadn't. Dean's got claw marks down his face, not deep, but bloody, and then Sam chances a look at the werecat. The sight of it makes him retch up his burger from dinner.

The acid and bile burns his throat, and it's in that moment that he knows he can't do this anymore. There's got to be more to life than watching your brother almost die on your fucking birthday because of a goddamn werecat.

 

**2004**

Maurice and Dave come looking for him when Sam doesn't show up for "study group".

"Dude, I thought we were going to go over the study guide for ethics," Dave says when he slams into Sam's room.

Sam rolls his eyes. "You really expect me to believe that?"

Dave shrugs. "It was worth a try."

"Sam." Maurice gives him his 'serious' face. "It's your twenty-first birthday. We should be going _out_ , dude."

The way Maurice says it puts a sick feeling in Sam's gut. Maurice reminds him far too much of Dean, and if he were being honest, that's the only reason they're friends at all. It's his own special brand of masochism, hanging out with guys who are so like his brother that he almost calls them Dean on occasion.

Sam snorts. "Maurice. You say that _every_ weekend."

"Because it's true! We're in college, man! We should be out partying, not _studying_!" He sweeps an arm out, gesturing at the books Sam has scattered across the floor.

When Maurice starts slamming books closed, Sam huffs out, "Fine. Just give me five minutes, okay?"

Maurice grins. "That's my boy!"

They take him to a dive bar with pool tables and darts and truckers playing poker, and Sam is really starting to regret opening his door to his friends.

Fortunately, they ply him with round after round of shots, and if Sam is totally cross-eyed by the end of the night, well, he can blame it on his birthday and pretend the slide of homesickness is just the tequila sloshing in his stomach.

 

**2009**

_If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back._

 

**2019**

Dean comes banging into his room at five a.m., and that's the first hint that there is something not quite right with the world today.

"Rise and shine, cupcake, rise and shine!" Dean is unusually chipper for five a.m., and that's the second.

"Dean?" Sam groggily lifts his head from his pillow. "Why are you even conscious?" He blinks his eyes open and then says, "And what the hell are you wearing?"

To Sam's sleep-crusted eyes, it looks like Dean is wearing an apron. And possibly nothing else, or at least, no shirt. Sam really hopes Dean is wearing underwear.

"What I'm wearing is not important! What's important is that it's your birthday! Which means we have a lot to do today!"

Sam responds by dropping his head back to his pillow and giving Dean the finger.

"Come on, Sam, you gotta get up. I fixed breakfast!"

At that, Sam lifts his head a little. "Breakfast?"

Dean grins like the chesire cat he is. "Pancakes, eggs, bacon. Your favorite."

Sam frowns. It sounds more like Dean's favorite, but hey, if Dean's made breakfast, it means he's been up for a while already. He's not sure whether he should be happily surprised or reaching for the holy water.

"Okay, okay," he says. "Let me put on some clothes."

"That's my boy!" Dean ducks out of the room, and Sam is relieved to find that yes, his brother is wearing underwear. Thank God.

The breakfast is good - the eggs are a little runny and the pancakes are darker than Sam normally likes them, but voicing that would be ungrateful.

As soon as his plate is empty of seconds, Dean dumps it in the sink and says, "Okay, we gotta get headed. Have to beat the traffic!"

"Where are we going?"

Dean grins again. "You'll see. It's a surprise!" He runs off to put on some actual clothes (Sam hopes).

Sam falls asleep almost as soon as they get on the road. Dean wakes him two hours later, as they're pulling into the parking lot of Rock City.

Sam laughs. "Rock City, Dean?"

Dean shrugs. "We've seen the signs all our lives, thought maybe you'd like to actually _see_ Rock City."

It's maybe not his first choice for a birthday extravaganza, but it's good. He grins at Dean, who looks like he's blushing a little, and says, "Thanks man. You didn't have to do this."

"Yeah, yeah, you big pansy," Dean mutters as he stomps toward the entrance. Sam follows close behind, with a smile that just won't quit.


End file.
